


A Learned Lesson in Sensitivity.

by PhoenixUnknown



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alley Blow Jobs, Female Warrior of Light & Canon Character, First Meetings, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Other, Self-Indulgent, as usual no beta we die like men, canon character/original male character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:41:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22875697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixUnknown/pseuds/PhoenixUnknown
Summary: He was never on Francel de Haillenarte's radar, but Lord Francel was always on his. Lady Nemisae spoke of him so often it seemed impossible not to know him. Now, finally--in the flesh before him, the young man whose dear friend unknowingly put a bright red target on his back; unassuming and polite--delectable.Aulleaux Faucetemps was committed to unequivocally possessing him, ruining him so thoroughly and then bringing him to a swift demise to put him out of his misery...
Relationships: Aulleaux Faucetemps(OMC)/Francel de Haillenarte
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	A Learned Lesson in Sensitivity.

**Author's Note:**

> [[ This work was inspired by Aulleaux Faucetemps & Nemisae de Duedael's mun, and is a gift to them as well as myself.  
> This work takes place as part of an Alternate Universe and is not part of anyone's working canon in game at present.  
> In regards to Heavansward, the Vault as it was in game did not happen and may be important to have noted for the future.
> 
> Link to Aulleaux Faucetemps' carrd: https://aulleaux.carrd.co/ ]]

Their first meeting takes place in the Jeweled Crozier, it is barely morning such that the sky with it’s endless clouds has a dull, emanating light. Francel de Haillenarte is perpetually busy, from sun up to sun down. Even though the first phase of the firmaments reconstruction had been completed far quicker than projected--he was still always so busy, and always working. An order done on the fly from his brother at the Manufactory, approval on inventory receipts, design drafts and material procurement. Francel is so preoccupied with all these thoughts that he careens right into someone when turning to take the steps into the first of the line of shopping stalls. The collision scattered all of his order forms and purchase scrolls, and his arse was bruised where he had landed, the bounce sending painful shocks up and down his spine.

“ _Aaah_ … I am terribly sorr--”

He trails off as his eyes follow up the gloved hand which had been held out to him only to discover the immovable force it was connected to was none other than his close friend; Nemisae de Durdael, the one he had so rudely run into. Not just his friend, but the Warrior of Light. There was a gentleman behind her, partially armored with several wrapped parcels under one arm. The weapon at his back hinted at he being a Knight Dragoon. 

She was strong, and helped him back to his feet with ease, he resisted the urge to rub his bruised bottom. 

“Again, I am well, and truly sorry. I was not watching where I was going.”

She laughed and he knew she was not laughing _at_ him. She leaned forward on the toes of her feet, hands clasped behind her back, and when she tilted her head, her hair fell around the side of her face; while it framed her countenance, it also partially concealed the altered marking which ran down the side of her face. 

“In your own world, again?” She hummed playfully, but kindly.

“I was never so distracted at the Locks.” He swore, heaving a sign soon after and beginning to pick up his papers. Nemisae and her bodyguard(?) helped him, but not until that apparent guard had gotten his fill of assessing Francel though, those too keen eyes had never left him the moment he had fallen and Francel could feel it the entire time. He was relieved of so intense a stare after Nemisae had begun helping to collect his belongings. It had been a little audacious, but as the Lord had heard, some of the Knight Dragoons were ‘just naturally suspicious like that’. 

Once she had handed over what she had collected, and her armored shadow did the same--she started in remembrance.

“Oh! I never got to introduce you! You went straight from Commanding Skyfire, to the House of Lords, and Lord Architect, it never aligned--” she turned and gestured to the Knight who stepped forward and bowed despite the parcels he had tucked to his side. “Francel, this is my personal escort; Aulleaux Faucetemps, and Aulleaux, this is my dear friend, Francel de Haillenarte.”

The knight turned his graceful bow into a stooped kiss at the gloved knuckles of Francel’s free hand, having never noticed when the other had taken his hand in the first place, he gasped in surprise and a flush spread across his nose and to the tips of his ears. He did not pull back his hand, and stood in wide-eyed endearing surprise. The newly introduced Knight peeked upwards at Francel’s face, his smile bordered on a knowing smirk-lips so close to his knuckles still that Francel felt them move when he spoke, and felt the heat of his breath.

“It is an honor, and my great pleasure to finally meet you, my Lord. I have heard so much about you.”

Francel was startled, jolted slightly as if a spell of immobility had finally been broken and he could pull back his hand. He vaguely hears Nemisae laughing again, _‘dramatic’_ a tease directed at her companion whose grin never wavered. Francel held his hand to his chest, cleared his throat and looked away.

“He is dramatic, please don’t mind him.”

She links their elbows, pressed into Francel’s side and smiled up at him--she was so joyous and he knew from her look that they were not making jests at his expense.

“It looks like we’re both needing to do some shopping let’s go together!” And he could never say no to her.

The experience of shopping with Nemisae and her bodyguard was the single most stressful event Francel has had to bear since taking his office. Ser Aulleaux’s smoldering glances notwithstanding, rather being less of his concern. For he had noticed Aulleaux kept apace very close, and not just to Nemisae, but himself as well and with marked differences; he did not lay hands on her, not even a graze of a touch, but spared Francel no such courtesy. He wore his apparent attraction on his sleeve quite openly and yet, Francel spoke on it not. Could not fathom why the Knight was so insistent towards himself--he was nearly unbearably forward, Francel barely able to remain sensible, though letting Aulleaux do as he pleased was certainly not. 

Aulleaux Faucetemps knew exactly what he was doing, the moment he had finally laid eyes on Francel, he knew exactly what he was _going_ to do. As far as he was concerned, all nobility were the same; loose, insincere, better-than-thou, violent and vain--and he assumed Francel de Haillenarte would be no different. Nemisae was a frustrating outlier and the first taste of kindness he had ever received, and that kindness, that naivete she possessed, he wanted it all to himself. It would be as an assurance that he would never, ever be treated as he had been, again. Taking her hand seemed the only logical solution with which to gain the political clout and status he desired, and Francel de Haillenarte seemed to be in his way, at first only ever a spoken-of wall between what he had assumed was her love of Francel and his own climb to new-nobility.

_'Then I will break him too, and after I will make him disappear.’_

The young lord did not jerk away from Aulleaux whenever he brushed too close, the first time being when Nemisae pulled him to the first stall she needed; Francel had stood dutifully behind her, staring into the distance with a far-away look in his eyes, seeing something neither of them would ever be able to--and so bothered by the way it made Francel’s lips turn down, Aulleaux set out to interrupt what thoughts preoccupied the lord--he didn’t need to see such a forlorn expression.

The touch was light at first, gloved fingers snaking down his forearm and sliding against a near delicate wrist. Francel turned his head just enough to see Aulleaux, clarity had returned and what once was distance now was replaced with his near undivided attention. The touch lingered there before brushing against his fingers, gold eyes bore intensely into his own; lashes a little lowered, gaze narrow, and Francel could see the suggestion--felt it when the knight licked his lips, a slow drag across his bottom lip. Francel's face went predictably red and he had to turn away; breath nearly stopped short in his chest and heart sent hammering. The frigid air briefly cools his face, it was just enough to keep his composure for when Nemisae turned around to beam at him, and the man whose devilish hand had gone to leave his fingers growing cold without that touch. Suddenly, Francel was hyperaware of this man, and Nemisae's kind smile and gentle touch could not ease the twisting in his gut.

"Pardon.” he says to her, it's almost a whisper, voice a little rough and he has to clear his throat before he can speak to the owner of the stall, a rolled up purchase form with them. (To be delivered to the firmament at their next available convenience.)

This carries on for each market stall they visit, but the intrinsic flirtatious nature evolved into something much more intense and suggestive. The curl of fingers at his own have turned to caresses at his exposed nape, pleasant shivers are sent down his spine like tendrils when suspiciously deft fingers brush at the stay locks of blond that curl from beneath his cavalier. Fingers whispering intimately behind his too sensitive ears… still, he says nothing, cannot bring himself to make a sound, and he can only smile at Nemisae as she chats with him, and step from that overbearing shadow when they came to a stop he needed. 

Aulleaux watched him closely, took in his nervous, but quiet determination, and the near flawlessness with which he dealt with the duality of his predicament. He was just amicable enough to handle the folk he brought his orders to in a way that they (mostly) enthusiastically took them--he was kind, humble, and infinitely courteous; but he was not without flaws some of the other High Houses might have condemned him for. He bowed to lowborns, shook hands without reserve and employed such titles on proprietors which would mark them with respect. Aulleaux could tell it was not preening carefully planned. Francel committed their names to memory, and they became " _Master --_ ", or, " _Mistress --_ " and it was always " _at your next convenience_ ". He was wholly unassuming and showed rarely a sign of his well-breeding, or hinted at a spoiled disposition. At most, his clothes and the way he spoke would give him away were he otherwise unknown. It was frustrating. **_He was frustrating._ **

The morning was still young, grey, and frigid, and the streets remained bare, shutters locked tight. Aulleaux was bold, and Lord Francel was deflecting him too aptly.

Brazenly, he finally lays a hand on Lord Francel's turned back, and at first it is just the tips of his fingers, even through his padded gloves he can feel the layers of clothes Francel wears; the touch starts at the first knot of his spine at the base of his neck, he can almost feel the bone beneath the layers. Lord Francel has gone somewhat rigid under the touch, Aulleaux slips a little closer, fingers drag slowly down between his shoulder blades--he can see the roll of those shoulder blades expressed in relief beneath the fabric of the bliaud he wore when Francel's shoulders pulled back in surprise. The fingers continue to drag further south slowly, fabric tugged and bunched at the passing touch, turning from a lingering graze to the pressure of a full handed press. When his palm met the young lord's spine and his fingers splayed outwards, that's when the full bodied shudder overcame Francel; a minute tremble which dissolved back into a stillness most unnatural after it ran its course. Vaguely, Aulleaux is aware that Francel has begun to hold his breath.

_'Cute..'_

The knight turns his hands so his fingers are pointing downward and the descent continues. Fingers find the cleft of his buttocks first, the gaskins barely allow him to feel the line 'twixt those round cheeks with his middle finger. His palm is hot even through the glove where he touches Francel, and even through the glove he can feel the pertness of both cheeks, the fabric barely gives away the malleability of the flesh. His hand slips down further, and Menphina knows he craves to see Francel's reaction, the boy's body was set to quivering finely in his hand-the tremble in his shoulders perceptible only to Aulleaux’s eyes.

The young Lord’s mouth slackened, and his breath barely withheld. Lord Francel rolled to the tips of his toes when fingers curled beneath his rear and edged between his thighs, Aulleaux lifted ever so gently and grinned to hear the shuddering exhale. Aulleaux revelled in the feeling of the supple flesh lifting with his hand, he could feel the way his fingers sink into the softness hiding here and he knew - just _knew_ it would jiggle with just the right ministrations… knew he could turn the surely pale flesh red and bruised so… so beautifully. When the tightness became too much for Francel to bear, with the way the fabric of his gaskins cut upwards from Aulleaux's touch; he staggered out of that hold, red faced and breath labored--nearly right into Nemisae as she'd just finished her last purchase and had turned to meet them.

"Oh my!" Came her exclamation, and even with a canvas bag in hand of carefully packaged produce, she still managed to steady Francel who looked downright rueful.

"I was lost in thought.' He murmurs, 'not paying attention…" he further trails off. 

Lady Nemisae is forgiving, and simply pats his shoulder with familiarity before trading her purchase off to Aulleaux. The man manages to look outwardly unaffected. Francel did not know of the tidal wave of heat having risen in the knight and kept himself from looking at him any further. Though, Francel was not without suffering, discomfort plagued him of a variety; a low heat simmering in his belly and a certain lightheadedness.

"I have one more errand in the Crozier with Mistress Elaisse, I suspect we shall part here though I do not doubt we shall see each other again, anon, Lady Nemisae… Ser Aulleaux…" 

Aulleaux is rightfully excited when he's escorted lady Nemisae back to her manor and to the capable hands of her own houses’ knights. Like a predator intent on its hunt, he prowls back to the Crozier. Lord Francel was still there, a little tense and anxious as he seemed always to be; but dutiful, and insistent until Elaisse, whom he'd been speaking with finally assented and accepted whatever it was Francel handed over. Not without an exasperated smile and a hint of goodwill. It was clear that the common folk at the very least liked him well enough, though it wasn't enough to weigh his worth yet--not that Aulleaux intended to truly invest in a High Lord; he was just another target on that note.

Lord Francel had approached another set of steps, intending to return back to the Brume by way of the Foundation, when he'd stopped to tiredly rub his eyes and take deep calming breaths; he was rightfully surprised when suddenly his shoulder was seized and he found himself secluded in a darkened alley, pinned with his front to the cold wall and a hot body covering the entirety of his back. Lord Francel knows exactly who this is without even seeing him.

"The audacity to act as such, so plainly! What are your intentions to continue to proposition me, thus? What are you thinking?" Francel asks with audible frustration.

Aulleaux is smiling as he speaks. "Oh, mi'lord, you are too easy to read, I can see it clearly,' his lips graze across the back of lord Francel's neck, 'you crave it, the thing I can give you, and--I do so want to give it to you."

Francel cannot admit to what Aulleaux is saying.

"It cannot possibly be so…" his lips quiver with the effort to speak, and though Francel cannot see it, Aulleaux smiles with growing warmth where his hunger still can show unabated.

"Oh, but it is, my dear Lord. I've found you to be terribly alluring and I want to show you everything I have to bear bear for you." 

Francel feels the wavering in his heart, a weakness makes his limbs light and his head even lighter-near dizzying. Large hands at his waist pull up the hem of his bliaud, rough gloved hands slide down his ribs before hooking into his trousers.

"What-what do you mean?"

With a chuckle, Aulleaux murmurs, " It seems you aren't understanding my words. Shall I show you, further?"

Francel startles when the fabric of his gaskins is tugged over the round flesh of his rear, coupled with the simultaneous sounds of a buckle releasing before he can feel the hot slide of a heavy cock at the cleft of his arse and inching up the small of his back when Aulleaux forcibly presses his hips flush against Francel's rear. The length of it is daunting, the flesh is heady against his own and telling of a long unsated hunger, he could feel a pearl of pre dab on the small of his back. The man grips both cheeks in large hands and spreads him-and urgency took Francel then; when the girth struggled to slide between the part and Aulleaux intended to aim deep-Francel protested then. A drag of nails against the wall when he tried to push away, slipping against the rock and back onto his elbows as the knight proved firm and immovable pinned against Francel bodily. Francel realizes then he had started to blubber ineloquently having been deaf prior with the blood rushing in his ears.

"Please.... it will not-cannot fit, I swear, please! Not here, not now…!"

It was such an interesting plea, with Francel's trousers pulled halfway off his arse and a cock resting between two perfectly placed dimples… it was hard to listen. He could hear the labored breathing, could hear the threat also of tears, but also heard the thickness of desire lodged in Francel's throat despite the fright he's received. Aulleaux wanted to take him then and there, but Francel was desperately trying to protect something, and it didn't come off as his chastity. Aulleaux let himself stroke the soft flesh of the young lords rear with just the fingers of a hand, pressing into the flesh enough to feel his softness and part him to reveal again -- Praise Menphina, a tight, pinkish entrance looking utterly unused and enticing.

_'I see…'_

It seemed despite the way Francel had responded to Aulleaux's advances he was inexperienced in this end. Francel desperately reaches behind to cover his rear best he could-an interesting desperation to stop Aulleaux from seeing what he's well already committed to memory, (for it was a beautiful sight to behold), though unknowing Francel sought to keep something else from his eyes and succeeded when Aulleaux let him finally grasp his gaskins and pull them back up.

"Here,' Francel speaks low to ensure they're not heard, pulling back with a shoulder to show Aulleaux he could move and that Francel would not flee. 'Let me…" he trails off when the knight obliges; his face heating under the intense gaze he's leveled with before he carefully settled on his knees and comes face to face with Aulleaux's cock. Francel had never beheld anything like this before-not that his experience would have had him in these situations often. The length seemed a full fulm of usable shaft, the lighter skin of the glans was flushed and beginning to leak, Aulleaux being so achingly hard meant the foreskin was pulled back and kept him exposed. The member grew darker in tone further down the shaft to a lighter ebony.

Francel braces his hands on Aulleaux's thighs, leans in with his head tilted so he can press the flat of his tongue against the shafts underside; Aulleaux had a loose grip about it such that he can hold it out to Francel, and so he drags his tongue from where the hand stops him at the base, to the very tip. The taste is every bit as heady as he remembers; there is the tang of bitterness from pre, and the salt of sweat. Aulleaux groans at the slide of a soft mouth against the shaft, sees that Lord Francel's eyes are heavy-lidded and he looks so good with such an impressive girth resting on his lips and against his soft cheeks, his cock was dark against the others flushed pink skin. Not just any beautiful boy was here trying their damndest to service his dick… this was a Lord of a high house, not just anyone was here on their knees for **_him_ **. Spending the better part of what would have been an uneventful morning priming this boy was well worth the risk.

And, while Lord Francel did not have the clinical skill or practiced ease some if the ladies he'd been with, had--clearly his intentions was not just to make him cum as soon as possible. He paid attention to him to make him feel good, simply, his ministries were of one which strove to do good, and fearful of doing poorly so as to disappoint. The young Lord wore his inexperience well, but seemed as though perhaps he'd done such things once or twice at the least in his life. The likeliest being the Fortemps Lord he'd been known to follow around--thinking on it sent a pang of annoyance through him, the bitter flame was soothed by the trail of a wet tongue along the underside of his length, pressed flat against the thick head before he lapped repeatedly at the slit til the beads of pre were swallowed and the shaft was left twitching in sensitive need. Then, he meets the head again with the flat of his tongue, parts his reddened mouth and lets the glans slip past his lips. His tongue is curious, rolls tantalizing circles around the tip. Francel’s mouth is small and soft, he sucks lightly and sweetly. He is unsure and has closed his eyes in some form of concentration as he seeks out every ridge to tease in this unknowing way. Aulleaux groans aloud again, head tilting back and mouth slackened for air to press between his teeth as he keeps himself mostly muted. His animosity remained in check and his nature of violence is quelled when his hands find the soft locks, the cavalier pushed from Francel’s crown so Aulleaux could cradle his head and twist the locks which shifted beneath his fingers like silk. There was something about holding so delicate a young man which satisfied that primal and deep seated rancor within and kept it at bay.

“Keep going, my pet. I will guide you, pat me if it gets too rough…”

Francel is uncertain when he nods minutely-tongue pressed against the thick head again before he parts his lips and gently sucks the head in again. His eyes slip closed again, and now his tongue works along the underside, while Aulleaux allows him to go at his own pace, he begins to slowly, ever so slowly push down on the man's head before letting him go back up when he had reached about a third of the way down the hefty member. As it went, Francel learned to adjust his jaw the further his mouth was guided, figured out how to keep his tongue flattened along the bottom of the shaft to make more room for cock in his mouth. His cheeks hallowed somewhat when he would suck Even after being allowed to take a breath, he would bob his head back down to where he had been pushed to earlier. 

Aulleaux groans again softly, praising him so far, but challenging him farther; pressing on Francel so that he must take more, and not letting up until he was halfway down his shaft-and even then Aulleaux makes him hold it there. Francel’s fingers press into Aulleaux’s thighs, throat tightened reflexively at the press of cock edging against the back of his throat. “Gooooood… You’re learning so well…’ before the Knight finally released him. Francel moans mutedly around the swollen shaft bobs his head back up when he is released so he can gasp or air before he tries to wallow his cock up again. Saliva and pre have made his lips slick and lets his mouth slide so smoothly up and down the shaft. Aulleaux’s pleased cooes and hushed groans crescendo, his hand gripping Francel’s hair tightly as he begins to thrust down into his mouth, sheathing his cock nearly down Francel’s throat when he finally climaxes; straight down his gullet, Francel predictable chokes at the thick length bulging down his throat, jaw aching with a vengeance and the prick of unshed tears tremble on his lashes-and Aulleaux holds Francel’s there until he is spent, making sure he’s swallowed every last drop around the girth before he pulls out by rolling back onto his heels. The sigh he lets out bellies his satiation, while Francel remains hunched over with his head bowed and gasping for air. His lips are certainly bruised now if they hadn’t been before--wet with spit and seed. Aulleaux lifts his gloved hand up, warm and soft to the touch as he lifts the man's head up to admire his handiwork. 

“You’re so good, my dear pet. You have certainly earned your rest. Shall I help you back home?”

Francel bows his head in mortification again, “Please…”


End file.
